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The Crest
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1
Every little renaissance is echoed in the colosseum
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Empty off the walls of Tin Pan Alley (alley)
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Til the space between the skin and shirt grows thin
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Til the cells of flesh and material
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Are indistinguishable under a microscope
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Til all the water goes gas and the potholes pop
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After the day's gone dark
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And the next chord's struck out of necessity (necessi-necessities x2)
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And they peel the paper from the walls
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Or pick another color paint
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And the next chord echoes like shrinking nickels
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In a metal elevator falling single file size order
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Through the hole in your pocket landing round
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A silhouette of the threat of silence
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The lifespan of the flight path of a slowly sinking skipping stone
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The dying light of the law's dying bells
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The timespan between wave crests is what makes the crest the crest
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(What)
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I know the temptation to straighten the spines
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Of men hunched from years of keeping nickels in their shirt pockets
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To lift these wood men from the pines
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And, in one jerk, snap every bone, disk, and plate in place
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Like adjusting some rusty segmented piece of an erector set from the 1950s
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But the human spine is an iron rod
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And, when bent, needs time and heat to make straight
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And it's easier to fill front pockets with nickels
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Than it is to make a cold metal supple
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The lifespan of the flight path of a slowly sinking skipping stone
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The dying light of the law's dying bells
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The timespan between wave crests is what makes the crest the crest
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